2014.04.26 - Beauty's where you find it
R reason=strong language The offices of Looker, Inc. are relatively quiet at the moment. Lia keeps night time hours, of course, and her secretary, Margarita, had a hot date tonight, some basketball player that Lia had never heard of, but fully approved once shown the pictures. Shooing the girl out the door with the instruction to "get on that thang", she's alone with her office door opened, presumably working but actually shopping for shoes. Well, it is -kind- of work. She does need to look good, and so few stores stayed open at her hours. Thank nerd for the internet. The Cheshire cat keeps nighttime hours as well. That's when the patrol is its hottest at Gotham- but tonight the Iron Spider is covering for him. There was something he had to do, and he had been putting it off long enough. So it was at this late hour that he shows up at the offices, dressed in his 'colors' so to speak (he never really is off-duty, looking the way he looks). He hasn't been to the offices this late before, but he had a notion Lia would be there. Vampires and all that, after all. He look around and spots the door to her office. Raising an eyebrow at the fact that it is open, he goes up to it and knocks on the frame. "Knock knock." Emily Briggs sensed Keith coming, of course. Psychic and all that, although, admittedly, she hadn't paid it much mind once she realized who it was, the familiar, fuzzy consciousness (both literal and physical) growing closer until the actual knock. "Hi there, Keith, sweetie. Something I can do for you?" she says, swiveling in her chair and preening a little, tossing her scarlet hair. She may know that her charms have no effect on the gay man, but, well...she just can't help herself. It's in her nature, like the scorpion and its sting. "I'd say there's a conversation we need to have, Miss Briggs." Keith says, leaning against the door frame. Nope, no effect on him- but then again, it was hard to compete with Patrick. "I'm sure you must have wondered where I went when I said I'd go out on my coffee break and never came back." Emily Briggs picks up a pencil, an almost pointless affectation since she'd never use the damn things, just sitting on her desk to look 'businessy', as she put it. She purses her lips as if in consideration, "Well, I can't say I've been tossing and turning, desperately crying your name, sending out search parties. I did put your picture on a few milk cartons, but everyone thought it was cat milk and...ew..." she says, making a grossed out face. "But sure, go ahead, lay it on me, big boy." "Alright. I guess you remember our first conversation?" Keith says, walking into her office. ~Don't be fooled by the friendliness. There are no friends in the modeling business.~ "It's very clear in my memory." Emily Briggs taps the eraser on the desk, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, "Let's see...it was a Tuesday. I was wearing a Michael Kors dress, which I never do, because, ungh, grandma, but he'd sent it over and I was trying to be nice. And it was at least a sheathe, which always shows off my rump. Manolos, natch. I was running late to meet Gwyny at the spa, she was so into the hot rocks thing, then. She still has a scar on her ass, a little burn, when she fell asleep..." "Oh. Yes, and you came in and...blah blah blah, you were hired. At least, that's how I remember it. Why, was there something?" Keith blinks. Of course, he had only seen Lia when she was 'on', business mode and in the middle of running the agency. Now that there was less urgency, of course, the dynamic was different. But he tried to stay his course. "I do remember something about how my 'puss' was only good for a shoot with the weird art crowd?" Keith blinks. Of course, he had only seen Lia when she was 'on', business mode and in the middle of running the agency. Now that there was less urgency, of course, the dynamic was different. But he tried to stay his course. "I do remember something about how my 'puss' was only good for a shoot with the weird art crowd?" Emily Briggs giggles. She may've had lunch earlier and said lunch may've been a few drinks into her evening already when she came by to pick up Margarita. "I'm sure I said puss a great deal, I never miss an opportunity. I never get to say it on TV, stupid censors. Puss, puss, puss. But that sounds fairly accurate, on the whole. Please, continue, it's delightful, this trip down memory lane." The cheshire is obviously a little disconcerted. He aims for another route. "I remember that Booster told me how you felt about this place. About how you felt you were protecting your girls from predators in the industry and such. That's true, isn't it? That's how you feel?" Emily Briggs nods, her eyes actually going a touch serious at that, "Booster needs to learn not to gossip, but, yes. I had plenty of photographers and agents...well, let's just say a young girl largely on her own in New York probably needs protection no matter what she does," she says. And then she smiles again, "Plus, they're so darn cute!" Keith steeples his fingers and ponders. "You know... I think there's a contradiction in what you say and what you do, Miss Briggs." Emily Briggs makes a large show of yawning, but waves her hand in a circle, "I think you're trying awfully hard to drag this out for someone coming to my office at two in the morning..." "You're a vampire. Isn't this, like, eleven in the morning for you?" Keith smirks. "Anyways... you're not putting your money where your mouth is. I believed you for a bit--- I believed what you told me. But I think I can see things differently, Miss Briggs. You don't really protect those girls." Emily Briggs flops her head back in the chair, "Oh honey, just spit it out already, you're getting all Lady Gaga. Kind of surprising at first but rapidly starting to bore me. Just tell me why you think I'm a horrible bitch already so I can get back to DesignerTootsies.com? I don't wanna get outbid by that skank Ripa again." Yellow-green eyes narrow. "Alright, you're going to get it." The cat says, and leans on her desk, pupils mere slits. "You say you're a hero, you say you're protecting your girls. You know something? You wanna make me feel like a monster 'cause I don't look like Robert Redford? FINE!" He swings an arm to gesture. "But in the weeks I worked here as a messenger, I saw girls starving themselves and treasuring their demitasse of protein for the day, just so that they could be the perfect skeletal coat-hangers for vapid, vacuous people like you!" The Cheshire's voice rises, now getting into full steam. "You know who is that naturally skinny? Maybe one point two of the population. You know what keeping yourself at that level does to healthy organisms? You are a big fat hypocrite, Briggs. Sure, you might protect your girls from those who would take physical advantage of them, but you throw them to the wolves to tear their minds and self esteem apart. Girls in this building feel like whales just because they don't fit in a finger-puppet dress that no healthy human should be able to slink into unless they were the walking dead." He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes further. "You're not a hero and you're not a benefactor. You could change all this, you could be a force of change. But you're too bloody busy being a measly follower, feeding your vanity." Emily Briggs takes in the tirade, letting Keith get his steam out. She does light a cigarette halfway through, the flame reflecting off her black polished nails. When he finally stops, she shrugs, "Okay. Oh, honey, I'm sure you feel very good about everything you just said. You felt all righteous for justice and standing up for the fatties." She laughs. "Seriously. Do you think I don't get that shit, like, all day long. Sometimes I think Twitter and Instagram are full of nothing but Flabby Fannies and Tubby Tanyas who want to tell me how I ruined their body image. Yes, sweetie, I shoved your face into that Ben and Jerry's. Don't forget to lick the spoon." "But here's the truth: if I send 'regular' girls out on auditions, they don't get cast. And even fif they did, the same bitches who bitch their bitchery at me, you included probably...wouldn't buy it. Why would I? I don't need to see regular people in Vogue, because regular people are every-fucking-where. You wanna change what's pretty, fine, but this whole media mind control schtick is horseshit. I mean, my job would be SO much easier if I didn't have to make sure these little bitches could put a donut around their waists, a donut they could never be allowed to eat, by the way." "So, I'm sorry I hurt your itty bitty feelings with the truth. And, for the record, every girl I employ sees a therapist once a week, on my dime, to keep track and make sure they don't kill themselves for the fucking job, but, if you ask any one of those girls, it's worth it. Seriously, when a boy does everything he can, pushes his body to the limit, just to get better at throwing a little ball, people rush out to suck his dick, but god forbid a girl have ambition, have drive, be a hardcore bitch who'll do anythng it takes to get to the top. No, only boys are allowed that..." She finishes her smoke, telekinetically snuffing it out, "So...I take it you don't want your job back?" "My god, you are a humongous bitch. And that---" Keith says, turning into a perfect replica of Emily, down to what she is wearing, "Is the truth." "You equate fitness and health to... starving yourself? Sorry, Briggs. When someone pushes their body to be fit and healthy? That's good. That's -healthy-, and any body type can be fit. You encouraging girls to starve themselves? To pretend that ambition and drive are synonymous with becoming an object? So boys can be healthy, girls have to kill themselves? You're so fucking full of shit, I'm surprised you haven't exploded." The Cheshire returns to his regular appearance. "And then you have the gall to say you can't do anything to change that? YOU HAVE A FUCKING TALK-SHOW! The whole nation knows who you are- the Vampire woman! Barbara Walters gives you interviews any tie you break a friggin' fingernail!" Keith bellows. "You have a handhold in the media that most would kill for! And to think I was coming here to offer you the means to change all of this. To start a wave of beauty that was focused on fitness and health instead of skeletal emanciation. And you know who would have been on board? Diana of Themyscyra. Yes, the woman you've been dying to sign since you got Booster on board." Keith steps back, panting, and he smooths down his fur. "You don't deserve an iota of it. And I feel sorry for the girls who've ended up in your claws. Keep your job and stuff it where the sun don't shine. I met a -real- heroine-- Zatanna Zatara, and she's not afraid that my 'puss' is too much for your public's delicate sensibilities." He tilts his head and smirks "I'll send you tickets to our Vegas show. Bring a friend. If you find one." Emily Briggs laughs, "Ohhhhhhhhh, puh-lease, we need violins, tissues, a whole Greek chorus of whiny whine whinersons. Focused on fitness and health, pfffft. I ain't bookin' girls for bodybuilding pageants. I mean, fitness models do okay in their niche, but I'm just a provider. And, oh, yes, I have a talk show. Look, I love The Scene. We do segments on body image and all the crapola you just talked about, usually after pretending to laugh at that scrawny weirdo from the Big Bang Theory and before the cooking segment with Mario "Breath Smells Like Meatballs" Battali. And...nothing changes."%"Maybe if the mommies at home actually paid attention to their little girls, instead of expecting the vampire on TV to set a good example? I mean, hello. It's all about the benjamins, sweetie darling. Sure, I fight bad guys and save lives on occasion, but Looker, Inc. is my -business-. It's how Mama puts the bomp in the bomp she bomp. If Wonder Woman wants to send a healthy message, go right ahead. God, she's way more famous than me. So's fuckin' Zatanna for that matter. Oh, but they pet you and tell you you're their pretty, pretty boy, don't they? Get off your high horse furball." Keith holds his phone up and snaps a picture. "Oh... that's right." He turns the phone around, showing a picture of the office, with no Lia in it. A cheshire grin "Your little shriveled veins all bitter now that you can't be photographed anymore so teenage boys can defile themselves to images of you spread across some car like poor man's jelly? Poor little has-been. I guess that an attention-starved C-lister has to get her highs somewhere, since nobody is obviously pettin' her no more." He flips the phone and slides it into his jacket. "There are other ways to run a business. So don't give me your false excuses. You chose how to do it. Now you get to live with the fact of being a horrible person." He sticks his hands in his jacket and heads for the door. He pauses and turns around when he reaches it. "That's right... I forgot. You're not human anymore. You're sub-human. A monster. A despictable, ugly beast. Just like me." His Cheshire grin spreads across his face. "Toodles, Briggs. Stay out of Gotham." Emily Briggs shakes her head, "Go back to your owner, fuzzball. I hope she changed your litter for you. Enjoy your slum!" she says, flicking her fingers dismissively. "If I'm such small potatoes, how low must you be, to go so far out fof your way? Oh, are you going to visit all the modelling agencies in town? No, of course you're not. You call me a has-been, but you'll never be anything more than a freak who cavorts around rooftops. You can dress your sour grapes up in whatever noble crapola your hags have been crying on your shoulder about, but, the truth is, purplekins, you couldn't hack it. So, go back to Gotham and go juggle your balls with the Batman. Tell him I said hello. Now, get your ass out of here before I have you arrested for trespassing. Toodles." Keith smirks. "Yeah, I sure can't hack it.While you were busy calling girls fat, I was in Apokolips helping to fight against the god of Evil." The cat laughs, and begins to disappear, first his tail, and then finally everything except his grin, which says. "Let me know when Superman invites you to the Justice League. I'll be waiting up at the Watchtower with cake to ask you what took you so long. Goodbye, Alice. Eat a sandwich someday." And then he is gone. Category:Log